


The Winner

by bobbirose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Competition, First Time, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with some plot, Potterlock, Smut, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbirose/pseuds/bobbirose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock drags John out of the Gryffindor dormitories at 1 in the morning to teach him how to duel in the Forbidden Forest. Much to the inflation of his pride, John's first loss soon turns into a win (twice).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winner

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look at that! My first smutfic!  
> The prompt I was given was much more innocent, from lovely tumblr user an-introspective-beat: "Sherlock and John get lost in the Forbidden Forest".  
> So here's the smut that was just begging to go along with that prompt.

John was grateful for a full moon tonight. If nothing else, at least they had the light of the moon on their side. He glanced around at the ominous trees, some thick and old and other skinny and bare, all cast into wicked shadow by the moonlight. He shook his head at himself and at the growing feelings of excitement in his chest, rather than worry. He was scared, of course, but he was loving it.

Glancing ahead, he saw a certain dark-haired Slytherin take out his wand, looking over his shoulder and nodding for John to do the same. Must be getting close, then.

“Last chance to turn back, John.” Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head in the direction of the castle.

John snorted. “You insult me.”

Because what Sherlock didn’t get, what nobody seemed to get, was that he didn’t follow after Sherlock because of some weird puppy dog loyalty. He loved the thrills that a life with Sherlock brought, was sort of addicted to them. He followed after Sherlock because the adrenaline that threaded its way into his bloodstream was better than anything the Monesky twins were selling behind closed doors in abandoned hallways between classes. This was raw, natural and exciting, and it was what John seemed to live for these days.

“Just checking, of course.” Sherlock replied, giving John a small smile as he strolled forward once more.

John sighed, his answering smile still present on his face. He stilled, watching Sherlock step carefully over a fallen tree branch and thought that maybe adrenaline was only part of it. The thrill of the chase, the wonder of the mysteries and the brilliance of never getting caught was easy to get swept away in, but it wasn’t the whole reason John stayed.

“ _Last chance to turn back, John._ ”

Like hell.

John stayed because Sherlock still asked him if he wanted to, like one day he’d just up and leave. Like he’d be the one to get bored.

He jogged up to Sherlock’s side, the combined light of the wands increasing their line of vision. “So, what was so important that you _broke into the Gryffindor dormitories_ at half past one in the morning to get me up?”

Sherlock exhaled, a puff of breath as he stared into the blackness that was the space between the trees. “Bored.”

John closed his eyes, stopping in his tracks and sighing. “So, you don’t actually have anything for us to do? You were bored, so you decided it’d be really smashing to wake your friend John up in the middle of the night and go for a stroll in the Forbidden Forest.”

Sherlock blinked. “No and yes, respectively.”

“What?”

“I did decide to wake you because I was bored, but I do have a reason for us being here.” Sherlock replied, casually analyzing their surroundings as he spoke.

“Which is?”

Sherlock’s eyes dropped directly onto him. “I’m going to teach you how to duel,” he said, rolling up the sleeves of his uniform and pushing them past his elbows.

John stared, positive he had misheard. “...what?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re...going to teach _me_...how to duel,” John repeated, uncomprehending.

“Yes, that’s...what I just said.”

“Sorry,” John replied disbelievingly, “but that just doesn’t make much sense.”

Sherlock frowned. “Why not?”

John laughed then, staring at his friend’s affronted face with the upmost amusement.

“Alright,” he said finally, unable to banish the grin from his face. “I’ll duel you.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows coldly, raising his wand. John did the same, the ghost of his laughter in the form of a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“Whenever you’re rea--”

The rest of John’s sentence was lost on account that he suddenly flew backwards, hit with the force of Sherlock’s silent Knockback Jinx. He skidded across the ground, pine needles embedding themselves in his hair and dirt scraping his bared skin as he slid. He came to a stop and blinked dazedly, his mouth still open in shock and elbow faintly aching from where it had hit the ground.

Sherlock walked over to him, wearing the same smirk John had not fifteen seconds earlier. He put his hand out and hauled John to his feet, brushing off his sweater with his hands. The smugness emanating off of him was at astronomically high levels, levels that made even the most patient of people want to emphatically roll their eyes.

“You can do _silent spells_?” John asked, astounded. It was only the beginning of their sixth year, and silent spells were something they wouldn’t be learning until the end of their term. Many grown wizards still didn’t know how to do them, but of course Sherlock would know.

“Learnt them in my fourth year.” Sherlock replied, trying to sound indifferent, but John caught the flicker of pride that flitted across his face.

“Of course you did,” John sighed, flicking off another patch of dirt on his sleeve.

“Are you ready for another go? This time I’ll use voice spells, if you want.” Sherlock moved away from John and brought himself up to his full height, raising his wand.

John bristled at his offer, pride a bit wounded. “Go ahead and use silent spells. I’ll be okay.”

Sherlock smiled. “One,” he said.

“Two,” John supplied, raising his wand.

“Three!” Sherlock bellowed, snapping his wand back and pushing it forward, a jet of silver light streaming towards John.

“ _Portego_!” John cried in defense, waving his wand in front of his body as if forming a shield. Sherlock’s jinx hit the protection charm and bounced off, flying into a tree and causing some leaves to spiral towards the ground.

“You could have just moved out of the way, you know!” Sherlock called, ducking from John’s next attack and firing a red jet of light at John.

“And miss a chance at firing at you? _Stupefy_!”

Sherlock sent his spell back at him with some ridiculously complicated wand movement.

“You could fire as you move,” Sherlock suggested, watching John fling himself away from his own spell and firing another one at the grounded Gryffindor.

“ _Shit_! And--and what if I miss?” John gasped, rolling away from Sherlock’s next attack.

“You’re a Beater, you won’t miss!”

John leapt up during Sherlock’s response, a bit angry that Sherlock was taking pity on him now.

“Come on!” he growled. “ _Levicorpus_!’

There was no stream of light, and Sherlock drew back, momentarily stunned with the unfamiliar spell. It hit him square on, and he yelled as the spell dragged him in the air and hung him by his ankle.

“HA!” John yelled in triumph, pumping his fist in the air.

“How did you know _that_ spell?!” Sherlock demanded breathlessly, face beginning to turn red from his position.

John shrugged, letting Sherlock down gently as he could with his wand. “Some mates found it in a book last year. Merlin, that was a rough month.”

They both laughed at that, regaining their breath and slowing their pulses down to normal.

“Round two,” John insisted, raising his wand again.

“As you wish,” Sherlock said, his deep voice thrumming into John’s head.

The Gryffindor took a deep breath, his heartbeat already starting to race.

 _Not now_ , he begged his brain. _Not here!_ John shifted his hips, trying to adjust his trousers without his hands.

Sherlock’s eyes flickered down for a fraction of a second, so quick John wasn’t sure he really had seen it. The Slytherin raised his wand, lips curving into a small smile.

“One,” John breathed, trying to make his voice firm.

“Two,” Sherlock said languidly.

“THREE!” John shouted, firing a Knockback Jinx right at Sherlock’s chest.

“Don’t aim so obviously, John! Predict where I’m going to move!” he directed. “Like so!”

Sherlock sent a Stunning spell slightly at John, who ducked slightly to his right. Unfortunately, Sherlock had anticipated his movement and the rightly-aimed spell caught John in the shoulder, rendering his body completely immobile.

“I win,” Sherlock called lazily, walking forward so he was face to face with the awkwardly-positioned John.

John rolled his eyes, the only thing he was capable of doing. Sherlock stepped closer and John’s eyes widened, the proximity between them closer than they were used to.

Raising his wand, Sherlock pointed it at John’s chest and murmured, “ _Rennervate_.”

John’s muscles relaxed and he teetered sideways, arms beginning to flail as he fell. Sherlock moved forward even closer and caught him by the waist, one hand on his back to steady him. John’s arms came instinctively up on Sherlock’s shoulders. His eyes trailed up to meet Sherlock’s, startled to see the intensity in his sea-green gaze.

An idea flew into John’s mind, making him smile widely and bringing his lips to Sherlock’s ear.

“I bet I can beat you in a fight,” he whispered, taking pride as the Slytherin’s lips parted in surprise.

“Okay,” Sherlock whispered back.

John drew back and stepped away from Sherlock’s, slightly taken aback by the amount of heat lost between them. He crouched down slightly, hands poised in front of his torso.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sherlock said, a bit mockingly. John’s eyes narrowed, and he went in for a punch to the jaw. He knew Sherlock would duck backward in alarm, so his fist only clipped a part of his chin. Before Sherlock could pull himself up, however, John threw a punch to his breastbone. Sherlock gasped and crumpled to the ground, sitting up immediately and massaging his chest.

“I win,” John sang, offering a hand to his friend.

“Again,” Sherlock snarled, tossing his wand on the ground and setting up an offensive stance. John did the same.

“Fine,” John allowed, confidence welling up inside of him.

Sherlock ran at him, but John ducked to the left and rammed into his side, knocking the Slytherin into the ground. John heard the breath of air being forced out of Sherlock as he collapsed, and as Sherlock rolled over John took the opportunity to completely gain the upper hand.

Dropping down, John took both of Sherlock’s waving wrists and pinned them to the ground. He swung his left leg over so he was hovering over Sherlock on all fours, breathing hard and staring down at the wide-eyed sixth year.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. John didn’t answer, his eyes roaming all over Sherlock’s face. They hand landed in a gap in the shadows, moonlight spilling onto the ground and covering the area around them in a silvery, romantic light. The moonlight cast strange shadows on Sherlock’s face, his dark curls sprawled across the earth beneath him and on the strange and beautiful planes on his face, in awkward contrast to the innocence and gangliness of his adolescent frame.

This could easily go one of two ways. One, John could leap up, claim tiredness and a headache. They would retreat to the castle in silence, pretend to sleep and never speak of this again.

Two, John could make a final move, one that would put all of his intentions and feelings out on the line. He could leap over that shaky line they’d been dancing across that separated friends from a giant, suggestive question mark.

Reaching out, John captured a chocolate curl between his fingers and brushed it away. Beneath him, Sherlock’s body tensed and relaxed, his breath quickening and pulse climbing rapidly.

“Admit I’m better at fighting than you,” John whispered, his fingers still intimately posed on Sherlock’s temple.

The brunette’s eyes widened a bit in surprise, momentarily caught off-guard. Then his face relaxed into a look of casual flirtation, and he whispered back: “Admit I’m better at dueling than you.”

John’s breath hitched, his eyes narrowing and heat pooling everywhere in his body.

“Oh, you--” he managed, before lunging down and crushing his lips to Sherlock’s, who responded immediately by moaning into John’s mouth, wrists straining against John’s renewed grip. His tongue pressed against John’s, a simple request, and soon it was a battle of dominance.

John broke for air first, gasping into the still night. “Whoever wins this,” he panted, “is the champion.”

“What’s to win?” Sherlock breathed, a hint of amusement showing through.

John leaned down again, eyes darkening with lust but still bright with possibility. The imprint of a smirk lingered as John brought his lips once more to Sherlock’s ear.

“I’m going to make you beg for it,” John promised, his words little more than enunciation and vibrations against the shell of Sherlock’s ear. He felt the Slytherin shiver, a breathless moan escaping his mouth.

“I--I’ve never begged for mercy in my life,” Sherlock countered, not entirely convincingly.

“There’s a first time for everything,” John responded, bringing his mouth to Sherlock’s once more.

He broke off even sooner this time, immediately bringing his mouth to the junction between Sherlock’s jaw and his neck. He lightly traced lazy patterns on the skin with his tongue, one hand finally coming off of Sherlock’s wrist to skate down his arm and onto his torso, while Sherlock’s breathing became erratic beneath him.

“John,” Sherlock gasped. “More.”

“Is that a plea?” John stretched out the words coyly, stopping his actions for a moment to look at Sherlock’s face.

“No,” Sherlock answered, “a demand.”

John growled in compliance, his hand trailing down and under Sherlock’s shirt to grip his bare waist as John attacked his neck with his lips and teeth and tongue, biting and pressing and kissing the skin until it started to color underneath his mouth.

Sherlock was moaning and writhing under John, his free hand coming up to grasp at anything, finally fisting the front of John’s shirt.

John let go of Sherlock’s other wrist, sitting up so he was straddling Sherlock. He pressed on Sherlock’s back, encouraging him to sit up too. Their hips suddenly locked into place, John gasping and Sherlock crying out at the friction suddenly between their trapped erections.

Bringing his fingers down to the hem of Sherlock’s House sweater, John lifted the fabric up and over his head, ruffling his curls as it passed over his hair.

“Bloody hell, you’re infuriating,” John exhaled, staring at the now shirtless, thoroughly kissed and deliciously rumpled Sherlock Holmes.

“Why?” Sherlock asked, looking confused.

“Because you’re bloody gorgeous,” John answered, his voice rough, before tilting his head up to kiss Sherlock again. Sherlock’s hands grabbed at the bottom of John’s Gryffindor sweater, the scarlet and gold almost glowing in the moonlight. He pulled up, and John assisted him in the removal of his shirt.

As soon as the woolen thing was on the ground, the two teenagers pressed even closer, their naked chests flush against each other. Their kisses, far from slowing down, grew only more desperate as they attacked one another’s mouths, never even stopping for breath.

But John needed more. If he was going to make good on his promise, he needed to move things along or there was no way he was going to last.

He pushed Sherlock onto his back again, his hands going now towards Sherlock’s belt.

Sherlock hummed his agreement, hands stuttering as John pushed Sherlock’s trousers down and palmed him through his boxers.

“ _John_ ,” he breathed, back unconsciously arching into his touch.

John kissed him again as he pulled Sherlock’s cock free, gripping him firmly and pulling languidly from the base to the tip.

“Oh, my god!” Sherlock cried, hips bucking into John’s hand.

“Be still, love,” John murmured, using his free hand to still Sherlock’s hips.

“You are _murder_ , John Watson,” Sherlock groaned, head thudding back onto the ground.

John laughed appreciatively, and started stroking Sherlock slowly, going straight from the head all the way down to the base, keeping an eye on Sherlock’s frustrated reactions.

He eased off, and instead opted to crawl down Sherlock’s torso, his prick now level with John’s mouth. Sherlock’s hiss of disappointment changed into a gasp of approval as he realized John’s objective.

John licked a long, slow stripe to the underside of Sherlock’s shaft, hands coming up to grope his balls. Sherlock whined, back arching up again and breaths coming in short, frantic pants.

The Gryffindor was amazed that he could actually have Sherlock like this so easily, was astounded by how close his Slytherin was already.

Without warning, John ducked his head and took all of Sherlock in at once, earning a strangled cry and a breathless moan of John’s name. He bobbed his head, stroking the shaft where his mouth couldn’t be. Sherlock writhed again, his neck thrown back to reveal the expanse of perfect skin, John’s red marks of possession scattered around the alabaster canvas.

John growled in pleasure just at the sight of him, exposed and beautiful. Sherlock trembled at the vibrations John had sent out, causing John to slow down before he drove Sherlock over the edge.

“No--what--don’t stop, John--”

John released Sherlock from his mouth, and the taller one’s head sagged forward as he sat up.

“You don’t want me to stop?” John asked, teasing Sherlock lightly with his hand.

Sherlock whimpered in response, hips straining to get more friction from John’s hand.

“Say it, Sherlock.”

Sherlock cried out again as John gripped him tight, his tongue flicking over the slit and then hands moving, never really stroking, just touching, all over.

“Oh, god--”

“ _Say it_.” John urged, becoming a bit desperate himself as his own erection was straining hard against his trousers. He pumped Sherlock lightly and quickly, kissing his neck again and feeling Sherlock start to quake beneath him. He left off suddenly, drawing a roar of frustration from Sherlock.

“JOHN!”

“Say. It.”

“PLEASE!” Sherlock cried, thrashing about in John’s grip. His breathing established a sort of panicked rhythm as he begged. “Please, please, _please, I can’t, please_!”

“Right then,” John said, hurriedly undoing his own belt. “I win.”

He grabbed the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him in for a furious kiss as he fumbled with his trousers and underwear. Sherlock helped, yanking them down by the belt loops and exposing all of John at once.

John clutched at Sherlock’s hips, bringing them closer and gasping as his cock came into contact with Sherlock’s. The latter choked and grinded his hips experimentally, the surges of pleasure causing John’s eyes to roll back in his head.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” he groaned, undulating his hips to match Sherlock’s unsteady pace.

“I need--more,” Sherlock managed, and John nodded in agreement. He fit a hand in between them and grabbed both of them at once, Sherlock grabbing at John’s arms and John’s head dropping to Sherlock’s shoulder.

He moved his hand, slowly at first, but changed to a rapid pace as soon as he realized neither him nor Sherlock were going to last much longer at all.

“John, John, _John, oh_!" Sherlock’s deep-throated cries echoed into the very early hours of the morning, causing John to moan in response.

“You are--amazing,” John said, speech becoming almost incoherent as he felt heat collecting in his abdomen. “Oh, god, Sherlock, I’m so close--”

“I know, I know, god, me too, me too John--”

With a few more furious pumps of John’s fist, Sherlock was undone. He came with a sort of strangled sob, and John followed not a second after hearing that wonderful sound from Sherlock’s mouth.

Then they both sat panting, eyes blown wide and brains completely offline, a first for Sherlock. He was fairly certain he muttered something to the extent of: “You win,” to John, but really, there was no way to be sure.

“Bloody hell,” John said, his hand coming up to rest on the side of Sherlock’s neck. His thumb stroked over Sherlock’s cheek, and he looked fondly up at the awe-struck detective.

“I let you win,” Sherlock said, blinking almost excessively. John laughed at that, shaking his head and stretching up to kiss him slowly.

It was Sherlock who broke this time. “As much as I hate to interrupt you and whatever lovely thing that was with your tongue, I really think we should...ah, clean up and...relocate.”

John looked down at the two of them, still mostly naked and messy and oh yeah, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. He nodded dazedly, untangling his legs from Sherlock’s.

Sherlock grabbed a fallen leaf beside them and Transfigured it into a towel. John raised his eyebrows.

“All spells are available to me when I have mastered Magical Theory,” Sherlock explained, a bit too smugly in light of recent events.

Wiping themselves both up, Sherlock Summoned their sweaters, both dirty from being thrown onto the dirt.

“I got this one,” John said eagerly, grabbing his wand from beside him and the sweaters. “ _Scourgify_ ,” he said, sweeping the wand down the fabrics slowly. The dirt and leaves fell away, leaving them looking like they had not just been the victims of a very enthusiastic shag.

Sherlock was still breathing heavily, John having regained his breath a bit quicker.

“Our hair?” he asked, trying half-heartedly to smooth down his curls.

John shrugged. “We’re sneaking back into our beds, just pretend it’s bedhead in the morning.”

Sherlock nodded, shakily getting to his feet. John followed suit.

“As fun as this was; next time, I think we should opt for a bed.” John remarked, already feeling the well-earned bruises forming on his knees and thighs.

Sherlock stilled, and shot John a glance sideways before turning his back again. “So, there is a next time?” he asked, forcing his voice into a nonchalant tone.

John blinked, then stepped over to where Sherlock was standing. He put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, encouraging him to turn around. He did, and faced John with a sheepish expression, something John had never seen on Sherlock’s face.

“Of course there’s a next time, you twat,” he smiled, and kissed Sherlock again to emphasize his point.

They began walking back in silence, hands intertwined and John leaning against Sherlock.

“Did you say you let me win?” John asked eventually, looking up at Sherlock.

The only thing he got in reply was a cocky little smile.

John took pride in knowing exactly how to wipe it off of him.

 


End file.
